


The Lure

by hannibalmontanabal



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Murder Husbands, dark!Will, mostly canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalmontanabal/pseuds/hannibalmontanabal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For an anon who requested a fic in which Will lets the darkness consume him while he is in the asylum, and it continues to seep through when he is out (which, surprisingly, is the way the show is going any who.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The cot beneath him is cold and hard as he lays quietly in his little cage. It is after lights out, and all around him the walls are painted in different shades of shadow. He sighs and the sound reverberates off of the walls. Once again, Will is reminded of how alone he truly is. No friends, no allies, just shadows and the bitter memory of shadows. All he has left now to call his own are his thoughts, though with so many prying eyes, so desperate to steal into his mind, he can’t even be sure of that any more.

He lets himself slip into the warmer corners of his mind, and again he is fishing.

The water is warm and calm and clear, and the sky is vivid blue. There’s a breeze, soothing and gentle at first, but it becomes progressively icy and harsh. The sky above is quickly darkened by pendulous storm clouds, which block out the once warm sunlight. Will stares up at the sky, startled at the sudden change, when he feels something tug on his line. He looks down, and the river is rushing rapidly, darkening from clear blue-green to an angry scarlet. He tries to pull the line in, but rather than pulling a fish out of the deep red waters, familiar black antlers emerge from the river instead.

He smiles.

xxx

Dr. Chilton stands in front of him, frowning. Will looks him in the eyes, and Chilton looks away, seemingly frightened of something in Will’s gaze.

"Yes, Frederick?" Will says, bored already.

"Hannibal requested to visit you again." Chilton says, running his hand idly along the length of his cane. "Third time this week."

Will nods.

"I’m not surprised." He says. He does not say, _"I expected he’d have tried to come at least five times this week; he must be restraining himself."_

"Me either." Chilton murmurs, seeming to be lost in his own thoughts. Probably, he’s recalling one of Hannibal’s dinner parties. Will is thinking about the dangerous chess game he’s playing, and how many more pawns he will need to lose before he has the upper hand. He knows Frederick will be one of those.

He doesn’t feel sorry about that.

xxx

Winston’s fur is warm beneath his hand as he imagines Hannibal’s throat there instead.

xxx

As he points the gun to Hannibal Lecter’s head, they both know he won’t pull the trigger. This is foreplay. He leaves Hannibal in his kitchen, and Will knows they both want more.

xxx

He sits in Hannibal’s waiting room, nearly an hour and a half before their usual appointment. Across from him is a pretty brunette who keeps glancing over and smiling flirtatiously.

All Will can think about is Hannibal and Alana. Hannibal kissing her and pushing her hair behind her ear. He imagines what sort of things they might say to one another, what sort of intimate words they must exchange between the sheets. He doesn’t realize he’s digging his nails into his thigh until it really starts to hurt. The brunette smiles again, and this time he smiles back. She blushes, and suddenly he feels a surge of adrenaline. He knows that Hannibal isn’t in his office right now, he’s on break. He swallows, and then walks over and sits next to the woman. She’s even prettier up close.

"Hello." He purrs. "What are you in for?"

xxx

Her name is Emilie and she has borderline personality disorder. She likes scary movies, counting train cars, and dogs.

It’s not long before he’s grabbing her hand and pulling her into Hannibal’s office. She’s laughing breathlessly until he pulls her closer and kisses her ferociously. She smiles brightly and pulls away, looking at him with blue eyes so much like Alana’s.

"On the desk?" She asks, her cheeks a beautiful shade of pink, and Will is pushing her against the desk, knocking all kinds of things to the floor.

He’s pushing up her skirt and feeling the silk and lace between her thighs, and she’s looking at him and biting her lip. Her eyes are twinkling mischievously and before he knows it, she’s pushed him onto the desk and has pulled his pants down to his ankles. He’s gasping and his eyes are rolling into the back of his head, and when he opens them again, he sees him. Will hadn’t heard him come in.

Hannibal stands quietly in the doorway, arms crossed. Emilie doesn’t see him, she’s preoccupied, but Will does and Hannibal knows this.

Will moans and arches his hips, and Emilie grasps at his thigh. Hannibal just watches silently, expression unreadable in the low light. And then Will is shaking violently as he comes, growling and clenching his teeth, his nails digging into the wood of the desk, surely leaving claw marks. He looks to Hannibal defiantly, and he can’t be certain, but he thinks he sees the cannibal smile.

Emilie pulls away, grinning up at him, but he’s staring across the room and she gasps, spinning her head around to look at the psychiatrist behind her. She quickly rises to her feet and clears her throat, looking at the floor and adjusting her skirt.

"Will. Emilie." Hannibal greets them. "Emilie your appointment started twenty minutes ago, shall we?"

"Uh.. Yes. Yes, I’m sorry." She says, biting her lip in shame.

"Will, you’re early. Please wait outside." Will nods, pulling up his pants and walking towards the door. He pauses to speak to Hannibal.

"Don’t kill her, it was my idea." He whispers.

"We’ll discuss it during your therapy." Hannibal replies, and Will sighs as he walks past.

xxx

Will waits anxiously, listening by the door for any screams or signs that Hannibal is hurting Emilie, but the walls are too thick to hear anything.

There’s a sick satisfaction in having done it, knowing that Hannibal watched. Will wonders if Hannibal will tell Alana.

The door opens, and Emilie steps out unharmed. She smiles shyly when she sees him. Hannibal follows her out.

"I’ll see you next week Emilie." He says, and she nods.

"Thank you Doctor." She smiles. "And again, I’m sorry."

Hannibal winces as Emilie leaves.

"Emilie has a tendency towards impulsive behavior, what is your excuse?"

"What about doctor patient confidentiality, Dr. Lecter?" Will bites back, sliding past Hannibal into the office. The papers are still on the floor, Will is satisfied to see.

"You of all people should know by now that my ethics are loosely upheld." The doctor says as he shuts the door behind them. He sits in his chair and stares up at Will. The two men stare at one another in silence, a silence which Will refuses to be the first to break. "So what were you hoping to accomplish?"

"I was upset with Alana." Will says, pacing.

"I thought that we agreed not to lie to one another."

"It’s true."

"Then why didn’t you do it where Alana might see you, rather than on my desk, where I would be the one to see you?" Will stops pacing for a moment, tensing. He’s not sure if he’s stung by Hannibal’s tone or what he seems to be implying.

"I didn’t know you’d walk in." Will mutters. Hannibal rises to his feet and moves so that he is in Will’s way. Will stumbles back, startled.

"Don’t lie to me, Will. You wanted to make me angry." Hannibal states it rather than asking. "Look at me." Will does.

"Angry? No, Dr. Lecter. I was hoping to make you jealous."

"You’ve been very rude, Will. I do not tolerate rudeness." Hannibal takes a step forward, but Will doesn’t step back this time. Instead he glares up at Hannibal.

"And how does that make you feel?" Will practically hisses. For a moment, he’s certain that Hannibal will kill him. Instead, he smiles.

"I am proud of you Will. You’ve come very far from the man I first met. No need to shy away from eye contact or from your own desires."

"You corrupted me."

"I just helped you to reach your greater potential."

"No need to be modest." Will laughs bitterly. Hannibal just stares at him, and Will is certain that his expression is one of admiration. Pride in the monster he’s created.

"Still thinking about killing me, Will?" Hannibal asks, and Will nods, his smile only faltering slightly.

"And are you thinking about killing me, Dr. Lecter?"

"No. I have other ideas in mind." Hannibal answers.

xxx


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will discuss the pecking order over dinner.

Will sits in his chair, but he is not relaxed. He can feel a storm coming; the air is heavy with it. He strokes Buster's fur, finding some comfort in simply being home again, his dogs at his feet. But he is a different man than he was before, tainted with blackened bitterness. And he supposes there's no running away from that- not now.

He stands and crosses to the door, opening it slightly and peering out into the darkness surrounding his property. There's something electrifying in the chilled windy air. He glances behind him at the dogs, their curious and worried expressions reminding him of a part of himself that he used to know. He grabs his coat and scarf, and puts on his boots.

"Shhh." He breathes to the animals, stepping out into the night just as it begins to rain. 

xxx

All of the lights in Hannibal's house are out, save one. It sits, seeming hollow and eerily alive in the glow of the streetlight. The rain is pouring in torrents, but Will doesn't care. He leans against a tree, looking at the way the light bounces of the blade in his hand, and for once his mind is silent and clear. No fear, not any more.

He finds the door unlocked.

xxx

"Hello Will, I've been expecting you." Hannibal says, standing with his back to Will in his immaculate kitchen. "May I offer you a towel or a change of clothes? You're dripping on my floor."

"I've come to terms with my feelings." Will says softly. "I know why I wanted to defile your office."

"Come now. That was hardly the most depraved act to take place in my office, Will." Hannibal says with a quiet tsk. He wipes his hands on his apron and finally turns to face Will, eyes alight with something feral. "Perhaps you would care to discuss your motivations over dinner? Or are you planning to use that hunting knife on me now?"

Will glances down at the blade in his hand thoughtfully, licking his lips.

"I suppose the knife can wait."

"Excellent. Come. Help me cut tomatoes. If you're going to show up in my home unannounced, planning to kill me, you're going to help prepare dinner."

xxx

Will doesn't touch the food on his plate. He watches Hannibal carefully. Hannibal breaks the silence.

"It would be very rude to not at least try the food."

"You won't kill me." Will says, glaring across the table. Hannibal takes another bite before answering.

"Don't test me, Will. And don't underestimate me."

"You should have said that when we first met." Will says, satisfied with the harsh edge in his voice. He takes a bite of the salad, avoiding the meat. "Might have saved me a lot of trouble."

"What were you hoping to achieve with such lewd behavior?" Hannibal asks, sounding so much like a disappointed therapist.

"I suppose I was hoping to show you the depth of how thoroughly I loathe you." Will says, not looking up from his plate as he takes another bite of the salad.  
"Loathing is a passionate emotion, so you took it out through an act of passion."

"It would be difficult to regard you with a sense of apathy." 

"You said you were hoping to make me jealous." Hannibal says, swirling his wine in its crystal glass. Will doesn't answer. "I wonder what reaction you were looking to inspire. An act of violence against you? Against Emilie?"

"I don't know what I was hoping for." Will mutters.

"I thought you had come to terms with your feelings?"

"Evidently I was wrong."

"Would you like me to stop seeing Alana Bloom?" Hannibal says after a beat of silence. 

"Yes." Will says, looking up from his plate finally. "I don't want her to get tangled up in our little chess game."

"Ah, but she is already a very important piece. The only question is whose she is, and who will take her from the board in the end."

"Don't.. Don't over simplify her for the sake of a metaphor."Will growls. "I don't want to lose any more friends when this is clearly between you and I. Alana is not a pawn; I don't want you to use her against me."

"But you have admitted to using Emilie against me."

"It won't happen again." Will's fists are clenched in his lap, and he's tired of dancing around the conversation. 

"What do you want from me, Will? Truly?" Hannibal says, as though he's read Will's mind. 

"I want this to be between you and I." Will repeats. "A gentlemen's duel." 

"You're sure you have no other reasons for wanting me to stop seeing Alana?"

"What are you getting at?"

"You seem to be marking your territory."

"I don't see Alana as property."

"I was not referring to Alana."

Will stares at him for a long time, and Hannibal stares calmly back. His heart is pounding in his ears and he wants to argue, to spit venomous words back, but he can't deny it. He wants Hannibal to himself, on his terms. He may as well be honest about it, both with himself as well as with Hannibal. Will's lips pull up into something more like a snarl than a smile.

"What were your thoughts when you came into your office?" Will asks, voice even and honeyed. Hannibal seems to consider it as he sips the last of his wine.

"I thought that you'd never looked so beautiful as you did in that moment of defiance"

"You weren't angry." Will says, tilting his head as he's so often watched Hannibal do.

"I take pleasure in seeing you without inhibition. I don't pretend to see you as a tame thing; you are a wild animal in a cage you've erected around yourself."

"The last time I was in a cage, it was your doing." Will says. Hannibal smiles. 

"Dessert?"

"Yes please."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will deal with the psychological consequences of his new-found darkness

"Please, forgive me!" Will screams into the night.

The air is cold and bitter against his dampened skin as he awakes from a nightmare. Beverly's face still clings to the shadowy confines of his mind, and he shivers, wrapping his blanket tightly around himself to try to chase the guilt away, as though it were an imaginary monster stalking him from beneath his bed. 

Snow falls outside, and his house is surrounded in quiet stillness, save for his ragged gasping. The steam from his breath curls like a blue snake in the night air, but when he gets up, he does not adjust the thermostat. Instead, he stands out on his porch, barefoot and wearing only his boxers and sweat-dampened tee shirt. The snow clings to him and melts away slowly, but he does not notice.

xxx

The next morning, someone is pounding at he door. When Will opens it, Alana looks quietly furious, like a shaken soda can about to explode.

"Will." Alana hisses through clenched teeth, her cheeks red from the cold.

"Alana." Will says softly, moving aside to let her in. She doesn't enter, instead shoves her gloved hands in her pockets.

"What did you say to Hannibal?"

"Trouble in paradise?" Will tuts, a cold bitterness settling at the bottom of his stomach.

"I need to know what exactly is going on between the two of you."

"I really don't think that's any of your business, Alana. Just like it isn't my business that you two are sleeping together." Will scrubs a hand over his face, not looking her in the eye.

"Well we certainly aren't now. What did you say to him? He won't talk to me." Alana's voice breaks, and Will bites his lip at the sound. 

"Well, have you considered couple's therapy?" Will says with a bitter laugh. Alana's jaw drops slightly, and Will can see that she's trembling, though whether it's from the cold or emotion he cannot tell.

"What happened to you, Will?" Alana's voice is barely above a whisper, and her eyes are brimming with tears. He doesn't answer. "I think your relationship with Hannibal is toxic. For both of you."

"Is that your professional opinion, Dr. Bloom?" Will shuts the door before she can answer, waits for the sound of her footsteps in the snow and the slam of her car door before he slides to the floor and lets out a single broken sob. 

xxx

"Do you still dream, Will?" Hannibal asks, eyes dark and narrow, so like those of a predator.

But Will is not his prey.

"Yes. Do you dream, Dr. Lecter? Do you have violent nightmares that tear you apart from the inside out?"

"I do." Hannibal says after a slight pause, considering the weight of the information. 

"What sort of nightmares would a man like you have, I wonder?" Will asks, smiling slightly, though it feels like broken mirror shards in his mouth.

"A man like me?" Hannibal asks, shifting the conversation. Will lets him.

"Don't be modest, Doctor, there aren't many men like you."

"You are like me, Will. Though you may deny it."

"Alana showed up on my doorstep the other day. She wanted to know what I'd said to you."

Hannibal seems to think about this a moment, staring at Will, trying to read his expression. But Will is a blank canvas. 

"When I dream, I dream of my sister."

xxx

Will is on the floor of his living room, tinkering with a boat motor. His hands are black with oil, and he's vaguely aware that some of it has smeared on his face.

He imagines that it is Hannibal Lecter's blood, and his smile feels less like broken glass this time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, Will is Persephone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it says The Lure will only be five chapters, but I have some new ideas that might make it closer to ten or fifteen. Consider this chapter foreshadowing.  
> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are always appreciated! Tell me what you guys think so far.

Hannibal watches Will cautiously take a bite of the food which Will knows is not lamb. 

"Thank you for having me for dinner." Will says after he swallows, ignoring the guilt when he finds that it is, of course, spectacular and flavorful. Like nothing he's ever had before.

"So to speak." Hannibal replies with the ghost of a smile. "I must admit, I think I would find you more bitter than any dish I would prefer to try." Will grimaces, but decides that Hannibal meant this as some kind of compliment. 

"Are you trying to imply that you prefer me alive, Doctor?" Will smirks, taking a sip of the wine.

"Of course I do, Will." 

They eat in comfortable silence after that, and Will considers what it means to be more than food to someone like Hannibal Lecter. He supposes it's an honor. 

Hannibal is the first to break the silence when the meal is finished.

"Would you care for dessert?" Hannibal asks, a glint in his eye that implies that there is more to the request. Will knows better than to turn it down.

"What did you have in mind?"

"I prepared a pomegranate blood sorbet." Hannibal answers as he rises to his feet. Will raises an eyebrow.

"Blood?"

"From the very lamb we just enjoyed, of course. As Garret Jacob Hobbs would have said, honor every part, lest it be murder." Hannibal searches Will's face for some reaction, though Will isn't sure what Hannibal is hoping to see there. Pain? Pleasure? Will is reminded of Abigail, and notes that Hannibal seems pleased with the reaction of pain. 

"Lamb's blood, pomegranate. A very symbolic sorbet, Dr. Lecter." Will says, watching as Hannibal grabs the plates from the table. "Persephone doomed herself in accepting a pomegranate. Blood indicates a sacrifice." 

Hannibal merely winks, and then disappears into the kitchen, leaving Will alone in his thoughts and his bitterness.

xxx

The sorbet is nearly more extravagant than the main course, Will finds. Marbled with elegant red, drizzled with raspberry chocolate sauce, the dish garnished with halves of pomegranate and white roses, those too drizzled in deep red chocolate. 

Hannibal places it before Will, noting that white roses indicate innocence and purity. A sick kind of irony.

"The roses are edible." Hannibal says as he sits across from Will, waits patiently for Will to be the first to try it. He does, closing is eyes as it sparkles and melts on his tongue. 

"A life well-sacrificed." Will says, tone dark and honeyed. Hannibal seems delighted at this as he dips his spoon into his own. 

"Were you able to see Abigail once again, what might you tell her?" Hannibal says thoughtfully after a moment.

"I would tell her that her scars do not define her." 

"I disagree. I believe our scars remind us of the past, and remind us of who we are as a result of what has happened to us."

"What scars do you have? What carnage created you?" Will asks, narrowing his eyes. 

"Perhaps one day I will show you, but that, dear Will, is something you must earn." 

xxx


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal is keeping a secret from Will, and also manipulates Will into doing something terrible, as per usual.

Hannibal holds his knife to the light, watching it glimmer there. He cuts into the lungs, slicing away strips and setting them aside. 

"Does Will know?" Hannibal notes that her voice sounds dry. He offers her a glass of water.

"Not presently, no." 

"Are you planning to keep it that way?" Abigail scans his face with her intense blue eyes, her brow creased in worry and uncertainty. He finds it comforting that her expressions have always been easy to read, even more so now.

"I intend for him to find out once his illusion of your death does not benefit him." Hannibal says, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Will viewed you as a surrogate daughter, and still looks to avenge the loss of you. He will know only when the time is right." 

Abigail nods slowly, biting her bottom lip. He notes her feeble attempts to hide her scars; to pretend that her life is normal in spite of everything. Her hair tucked behind one ear, and falling in her face to cover up the absence of the other, the scarf tied tightly around her delicate white neck. She reminds him of cracked porcelain.

"This was the only way, Abigail." Hannibal says, an she looks up to him. Smiles nervously and toys with the red floral scarf around her neck. It nearly looks like a noose. 

"I just wish I could go outside. I've been in the basement for months, and you only let me in the rest of the house when it's dark outside. I miss the sunlight." Abigail places her hands delicately in her lap as she looks out the window at the moon, and Hannibal knows that when Beverly Katz came across Abigail's room in his basement, Abigail would have chosen to escape had Hannibal not put an end to Beverly's life. He smiles, brushing the hair away from where her ear used to be.

"One day, my dear Abigail, but for now we must wait for our Will to get closer to who he is, and further from who he wishes he could be."

xxx

Will stands with his back to Hannibal's door, waiting for Hannibal to step out and greet him. He's early today, knowing punctuality delights Hannibal. 

He looks around him, inspecting the art on the walls, the magazines on the table. It's all tasteful and perfectly Hannibal, and it makes Will want to punch a hole in the wall. Or at least tilt one of the paintings so it sits crooked on its nail. After circling the room a few times, Will glances at his watch and notes that it is three after. It's unlike Hannibal to keep hims waiting. He sits in one of the chairs finally, thrumming his fingers against the leather to a discordant beat. Another minute slowly passes, and Will hears muffled voices on the other side of the door. Hannibal and another man. The man's voice is like that of a frightened animal, Will notes. Frantic and uneven. He seems to be murmuring words such as 'no' and 'please' and 'not like this.' These are followed by Hannibal's soothing tone, though Will cannot make out his words. There is a brief moment of quiet, and then Will hears Hannibal's voice, calling out his name in what sounds like desperation.   
Will jumps to his feet and opens the door to find that Hannibal's patient is holding a knife to Hannibal's throat. 

"I'll kill him, I swear. He wants me to kill him." Hannibal's patient says, his eyes wild and red. Feral.

"Will, the letter opener." Hannibal says calmly, but Will hesitates. All he would have to do is let that man slit Hannibal's throat, and all of this would be over.   
But no, Will wants to be the one to bring Hannibal Lecter his reckoning, Will wants to be the one to destroy Hannibal Lecter from the inside out with his bare hands, just as Hannibal destroyed him, and he can't let it end this way.   
The ravenstag nudges him forward, grunting hot breath on the back of Will's neck. The man pulls the blade closer to Hannibal's throat, ready to strike, 

Will grabs the letter opener, and with no further hesitation, drives it into the man's trachea.

It's not a pretty sight. Blood sprays onto his face and Hannibal's suit, and the man slides to the floor, sputtering and convulsing violently at Will's feet. He grabs at Will's pant leg, his eyes seeming to plead in desperation before he dies gagging on his own blood, and Will didn't even know his victim's name. He comforts himself with the sense that he had no other option, for surely this man was a murderer like so many of Hannibal's other patients.  
"I owe you my life." Hannibal says calmly, staring at the body on the floor with a look of disgust. 

"I owe you a new suit." Will answers, wiping the blood from his forehead with his sleeve. Hannibal appears to disapprove of this, handing him a handkerchief. Will uses it to clear the blood as best as he can. 

He decides that Jack doesn't need to know about this. Maybe not for a while, maybe not ever. 

"I will take care of the body." Hannibal says matter-of-factly. 

"I could help if you like." Will offers, though he knows the nature of the gruesome plans Hannibal has for this man's corpse. Hannibal waves his hand in dismissal. 

"All in due time, good Will. I will have to ask that you come with me so that I may clean you up, however."

"Am I not capable of cleaning myself up?" Will asks, smirking. Hannibal smiles. 

"I have some very effective methods for getting blood out of clothes."

Slightly behind Hannibal, the wendigo seems to smile.

xxx

The bath is warm and fragrant, Hannibal had insisted on putting rose petals in it. Candlelight flickers, casting dancing shadows in the water. Will lets himself sink beneath the surface, petals sticking to his chest and neck before he submerges himself completely.

Under the water, Will hears Vivaldi playing from somewhere in the house. 

He thinks that this must be what Persephone felt like after she ate the pomegranate. 

xxx

Abigail leans back into the velvet of her chair, and it reminds her of the fur of the deer her father used to kill.

Hannibal forbade her from leaving her room tonight. He has company. Will or Alana, she supposes.

She sighs, looking around at all of her books and flower vases full of violets and chrysanthemums, and the expensive clothes Hannibal bought for her. Nearly every weekend he brings her some new gift. Sometimes a bracelet, sometimes a new leather bound book, clothing from Paris, satin ribbons, tea sets, champagne. Once he brought her two songbirds. He told her that they were endangered, and she fancied them lovebirds. Their cage was an ornate thing, white and covered in pink-painted roses, made to look like a gazebo. She loved those birds, named them Bonnie and Clyde. Their singing helped her sleep with less nightmares.

One night, Hannibal stole them away, leaving their cage open and empty. He never told her what happened to them, and she was too afraid to ask. 

Much like those ortolans in their intricate and beautiful cage, she knows she is not a guest here, but a captive in a gilded prison. She knew that the moment that FBI agent discovered her and was killed for it.

In the webs of Hannibal's complacency and generosity, she is endangered.

xxx


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, when I had started this, up until chapter five, I was writing chapters a bit before episodes aired, and then finding that the new episodes were shockingly similar to what I had written. The way the finale of season two had ended was essentially how I had intended to end this, honestly.   
> So, I decided to take things into a different direction. These last two chapters only vaguely reflect the end of season two, like murky reflection in a dark body of water, or like the negative of a photograph.

Will sighs into the cold air, pulling his coat a bit tighter around himself. His shoes echo quietly on the pavement as he walks, deep in thought.  
Putting an end to Randall Tier had been easy, he recalls. Not just because Will had half-hallucinated that Tier was Hannibal, and not just because of Tier's nearly successful attempt to kill Buster.  
As he murdered the man who fancied himself a beast, it was as though every killer whose shoes Will had walked miles in soaked into Will's mind -no, more like into his bloodstream. Every borrowed perspective had washed over him, dying his vision different shades of dark and secret bliss. Intoxicated he was, with the thrill of all the different colors of bloodlust. The thrill of the kill, so unlike anything else.  
The empathy had given him a subtle high, and he'd felt so utterly alive and alert and connected as Randall drew in his last breath.

Not putting an end to Freddie Lounds had been much harder. Ripping out her hair was so satisfying, and he had debated more than just a little bit about actually following through with it as he'd dragged her from her car. It would have been so much easier than trying to talk to her; trying to convince her to help him. But Will had chosen to let the darkness in only so far as was necessary to put Hannibal down.  
He had killed two of Hannibal's patients now, he was determined to only allow his body count to go so far. Self-control and self-awareness are both so equally crucial to his plans now, and had he killed Lounds that day, his only remaining option would have been to give in to Hannibal Lecter completely. Will must remind himself everyday to keep his resolve strong and not surrender, regardless of the temptation to return to his old blissful ignorance, when Hannibal had seemed like his only real friend. 

He keeps the image of Abigail's face fresh in his mind. 

When he feels especially weak in his resolve, he remembers her in the hospital bed, and how Hannibal's call to her house was what ultimately put her there.  
Some days are more difficult than others.

He knew when Hannibal presented the ortolans, with the spiel about not hiding from God, that it was another pomegranate in disguise. But Will hadn't earned it, not really. Hannibal believed that Will had taken Freddie Lounds' life in cold blood, not in self-defense and not in defense of Hannibal's life. He believed Will had killed Lounds for the pleasure of doing so, and in Hannibal's eyes, that was something to be rewarded.  
He wonders a moment about where Hannibal had gotten those birds from, and then remembers Sheldon Isley, with his endangered song bird habitat that had ultimately cost him his life. The man with the poisonous flowers for organs.

Will is lost in his thoughts about this, wondering again if maybe it would have been better to just kill Freddie, when he realizes that he is stalking a woman with curly red hair. She walks a ways up ahead, across the street, seems oblivious to him. He realizes with dread that he's been following her for at least a mile, and that he was entirely unaware.   
What had his intentions been? Would he have followed her into her home, or realized what he was doing and turned back? The fear in his gut is cold steel as he realizes he isn't sure that he would have done the latter.   
He turns around, walks back to his car. He hadn't even been entirely aware that he had pulled over when he saw the woman who mildly resembled Freddie Lounds. Gotten out and started walking, watching her and questioning the worth of Freddie's life.   
He tells himself again that self-control and self-awareness are vital to him now, and the answering voice, so unlike his own, tells him that maybe he deserved to eat the songbird after all. The rite of passage, as Hannibal had called it.

He gets into his car and lets out a heavy breath as he turns the key.  
"I have to end this soon." He says out loud to himself.   
While I still have some shred of sanity and willpower left, he thinks.  
Once again, he forces himself to think of Abigail, let's his rage be his guide. It doesn't hit him as hard this time, though. This image, his talisman, it's losing its hold on him. Hannibal might be winning the fight for Will's soul.  
He puts his hands over his eyes, hiding from God after all.

xxx

"Hannibal thinks you're his man." Jack says, thoughfully eyeing Will. "I think you're mine."  
And Will thinks, at least we're all in agreement that I am not my own man.

xxx

Hannibal finally tells him about Mischa, all the horrors of his youth. Tells him about his beloved Lady Murasaki, and about his travels from Europe to America. He opens up, and Will can see that it's genuine. Hannibal's dark truths spill out like a dark bubbling fountain, and Will struggles to see Hannibal in the same way, can't completely see him as a hideous monster. Instead, he observes him with an aching sense of pity at the miseries that brought him to the present moment. 

Hatred is difficult to hold on to, now. Unpleasant, pitiful empathy fills its place.   
"You said that Abigail reminded you of Mischa," Will says, noting the way that Hannibal shifts in his seat at hearing his sister's name on Will's tongue. "How could you have killed her, after all of that? How could you let that tea cup shatter again?"  
Hannibal merely eyes him for a moment.   
"Will, I need you to trust me."  
"I wouldn't have come this far if I didn't." Will responds with a shrug. "I'm with you to the end, just as Patrocolus was with Achilles."  
"When the moment comes, will you do what needs to be done?" Hannibal asks, stealing Jack's words. and Will gives him the same answer he had given to Jack.  
"Oh yes."   
He realizes he's told them both the truth, and he knows this will end as it began.  
In blood.

xxx

As he hangs up the phone with Alana, rushing out the door, he considers the man he used to be. Once, he was just a simple man with dogs and the hope that he could maybe do some good in the world. Save some lives, make use of his strangeness. He was always on the outside looking in. Even when he was alone, he took comfort in looking at his home from the outside. Observing, perceiving, feeling, but not being involved. Not really.   
Now he's as close to the center of things as he can possibly be without becoming Hannibal Lecter..  
Adapt,  
evolve,  
become.  
He dials Hannibal's number, knowing that he can't let Hannibal rot in a cell. He has to warn Hannibal, give him a chance to get away. He tells himself it's because he wants to take Hannibal down himself, and that it's an attempt to protect Jack Crawford, but he's not so sure any more.

"They know."  
There's a moment before he hears the other end go dead, and he knows Hannibal won't leave. Won't go down without a fight.

xxx

Alana paces her living room, trying to organize her thoughts in this tangled web.   
Hannibal had done her a favor by breaking off contact with her the way he did. If Jack and Will and Freddie are right, there's no doubt that he is the Chesapeake Ripper. She could almost laugh at the fact that she turned Will down because she had thought he was much too unstable, and instead chose to date a cannibal.   
After the shock of seeing Freddie alive and the full weight of the realization hit her, she had thrown up. She recalled how she'd had two helpings of rabbit the last time she'd had dinner at Hannibal's, and how that night he had kissed her and held her and politely pointed out that she had meat stuck in her teeth and..  
She almost didn't make it to the toilet bowl, and Freddie Lounds stood behind her, holding her hair back like they were friends and Alana had drank too much at a party.  
When she had sat down with Will to talk about it, she couldn't help but feeling that she was looking at a dead man walking. He had handed her his gun, told her to practice. She had, but only for a few days. She can feel that the time to use it has come, and she can only hope that she has practiced enough.  
Somehow she feels that in giving her his gun, Will was giving her his life. She hopes it won't go to waste.  
She remembers nights when she would fall asleep with head pressed onto Hannibal's chest, the way he would kiss the palms of her hands, let her help him cook...  
She cringes at her memories now, pushing them away and trying to think clearly. She wonders numbly if warning Will was the wisest idea, though surely he'll go to save Jack and maybe together they could take Hannibal down.  
Defeat him as though he were some kind of comic book villain.  
She decides that she can't just wait around, hoping for the best. She has a part to play in all of this. She stops in front of her mirror, thinking back to when she was a little girl running around her father's vegetable garden, laughing and getting her blue dress dirty. Thinking back to her high school graduation, her first serious relationship, her first day as a practicing psychiatrist, the day her father died. All those years, all those moments, leading up to this. She grabs Will's gun, decides last minute to make sure it's loaded, and it is.   
Then she opens the door to her fate.

xxx

The door of Hannibal's house is open, and Alana hears the gunshots ringing into the night.   
She reports them, hoping that might do some good, pulls out her gun, then she goes in.   
Hannibal is throwing himself against the door of his pantry, his shirt is bloody and his hair is disheveled. He doesn't see her, doesn't notice her. Her limbs feel like lead and she is more afraid than she has ever been.  
"Hannibal," she whispers, and it's like the nightmares where you try to scream and nothing comes out, try to run and your legs won't go. "Hannibal!"  
He hears, turns, and smiles at the gun in her hand. "Where's Jack?"  
"In the pantry." Hannibal starts to say something else, but she cuts him off by pulling the trigger. She clips his shoulder, and he seems surprised. "You could have been blind to all of this, Alana. But you chose to be brave. I am afraid that now I am going to have to kill you."  
She fires the gun again, misses, and turns to run. She momentarily debates running to the door, but he's close enough to catch her if she goes any way but straight ahead. She runs up the stairs, decides to hide in a room with her gun. Maybe she'll be lucky enough to kill him before he kills her if she barricades herself behind a locked door.  
She shuts herself into the room, panting. She has three more bullets, and as she hears him outside of the door, she fires twice more, praying that he's hit. She fears her lack of practice might have damned her, though.  
Moments pass and the silence is nearly maddening, and then something moves from the corner. She aims the gun, but lowers it when she realizes that it's Abigail Hobbs.

She nearly forgets where she is, everything that's happening around her. How can Abigail be alive? How could she have been here all along when Alana had been here, too? She is barely aware that she has said Abigail's name aloud, as though if she says it, maybe this apparition will disappear.

"I'm so sorry." Abigail whispers, and Alana can see that something is wrong. It's too late, before she can react, the glass is shattering behind her. She fires her final bullet in surprise, hits nothing.  
Then there's the impact, and blackness.

xxx

Will throws money at the cab driver and jumps out, there's something on the cement in front of Hannibal's house. He realizes with horror that it is Alana. He runs to her, but there's nothing he can do but call for an ambulance. She tells him to go, save Jack. He covers her with his coat, and has a flashback to Mrs. Hobbs, bleeding out on the pavement.  
Then he runs inside.

xxx

Abigail stares out the window with dread and regret at Alana, who isn't moving. She sees the taxi pull up and watches Will get out. Hannibal's hand is on her shoulder, pulling her away.  
He tells her to greet their guest, and she's nodding, following his lead. He has promised that when Will is ready, they will run away and be a family. Just play along, cut the necessary ties, and they can move on from all the horrors that have transpired. He pets her hair, guides her down stairs, leaves. She is alone with Will, and she wonders what he'd say if he knew she was the one who pushed Dr. Bloom out the window.

xxx

Bella Crawford is pulled into semi-consciousness by the ringing of her phone. She coughs violently, reaching weakly for her phone. Jack is calling, and her heart tugs. She knows it will not be long now, and she doesn't want to die on the phone with him.   
Still, she answers. Silence on the other end, just silence. She wonders if he had called on accident, or perhaps not had the strength to say to her whatever it was that he had been planning to say. It's a dim hope that maybe he had finally called to say good-bye. She starts coughing again, and drops the phone onto her bed without hanging up. She is too weak to stay awake, and she falls asleep in seconds.  
Bella does not wake up again.

xxx

"Where is he?"  
Her eyes flit behind him, bright with fright and uncertainty, and Will can feel the stag breathing on his neck. His eyes are welling with tears.  
"You were supposed to leave." He hisses, turning. And, God, how he had hoped Hannibal would have gone. But now that Abigail is here, he realizes that this was all for his benefit, some kind of gift gone horribly wrong.   
"We couldn't leave without you." Hannibal confirms, and he's pulling Will in close to him. It's almost romantic, Will thinks. "I wanted to surprise you, and you," he smiles "you wanted to surprise me."  
Will pulls away, staring up at Hannibal in disbelief. Hannibal continues, stepping forward. Closing in on Will. "I let you know me. See me. I gave you a rare gift, but you didn't want it."  
"Didn't I?" Will smiles sadly, looking at Abigail. He wonders if it isn't too late to run away with them, let's himself imagine how that could be. Hannibal's eyes are brimming with tears.  
"You think me a monster, Will. I invite you to eat your heart out." He backons to Abigail, calls her to him. She obediently steps towards him, let's him place his hand on the crook of her neck. "What do you see, Abigail?"  
She pauses, looking between them and licking her lips nervously, clearly wanting to please. To give the right answer.  
"I.. I see family." Hannibal nods, and Will realizes too late what he means to do. Hannibal pulls out a linoleum knife and uses it to slit Abigail's throat, returning them to the moment where the teacup shatters, a fate which Hannibal is doomed to repeat over and over.  
Will is on him in moments, knocking him back into the wall and sinking the same linoleum blade into Hannibal's gut, ripping into him with it. Hannibal lets out a bark of surprise, but he smiles as he slinks to the floor, the tears falling freely, finally.   
Will is grabbing Abigail, sobbing and putting pressure on her neck, trying desperately to slow the blood flow. He is covered in it.  
"No, please, please, please." He begs Abigail to live, pressing his forehead against hers. She is sputtering and staring up at him, eyes wide like those of a doe caught in headlights.  
"I only did what he told me." She whispers. "So we could be a family. I just did what he told me."  
"Will." Hannibal whispers, blood slipping between the fingers of the hand holding his insides in. "Will, tell me something." Will glares at him.  
"What is left to say?" Will hisses, his hatred threatening to spill over and never stop.  
"Did you love me?" Hannibal coughs blood, still smiling gently. Will is reminded of what Dr. Du Maurier had told him, about how Hannibal would convince him to kill someone whom he loved, and he would feel like it was his only choice.  
"No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love, we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true."  
Hannibal laughs, though it is an ugly sound. The laughter of a mad man.  
"In my breast pocket are two plane tickets. Should Abigail pull through, I want you to take her to Florence." Will eyes him speculatively, certain that Hannibal is only to trying to get him to abandon Abigail's side so that she will bleed out and he will truly have no one else left.   
Hannibal takes his hand away from his wound and pulls the tickets from his pocket with a great deal of effort, staining them.   
"I promised her." He rasps. Will reaches out, grabs the tickets, and for just a moment their fingers touch. "You were given the choice, and you denied me my life. But you can give Abigail family."  
Will just glares at him. This wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't how this was meant to end. He returns his attention back to Abigail, sighing in relief to find that she is still breathing, though just barely.  
"I forgive you." Hannibal says, sputtering blood onto his collar. "Will you forgive me?"   
Will stares at him, and Abigail's eyes close.  
Hannibal Lecter dies with a smile on his face, thinking that maybe Will was Achilles all along.

xxx

Kade Prurnell stands, arms crossed and lips pressed together in a tight line. Jack Crawford still sits against the wall, covered in blood, eyes open wide and staring at nothing. His phone beside him on the floor, last outgoing call to his now belated wife.  
It's likely that they died at the same time, or within moments of one another. Some kind of fucked up Romeo and Juliet.   
Alana Bloom is in a coma in the Baltimore State Hospital, paralyzed and fighting off pneumonia from her hospital bed. Glass still glitters on the pavement where she fell.  
Hannibal Lecter's corpse posed on the dining room table, smiling as though he died victorious. Died triumphant. But he is erected like some grim gargoyle, sleek black feathers sewn into him with fishing line, and a crown of thorns, roses, and antlers mounted grotesquely on his head.   
If Will Graham were here, he'd say that this tableau was a final homage to the Chesapeake Ripper; that this was an act of love and hatred and grim respect.   
If Will Graham were here, he would say that this was a reckoning, long in the making. 

 

If Will Graham were fucking here, he'd be taken out in handcuffs.

There is more blood here than one person can spill. They're running tests on it, hoping that maybe Hannibal wounded Will too, and that he will be somewhere nearby; that there will be a blood trail.   
She let's out a shaky sigh, closing her eyes. This is a fuck-fest, and they will be fighting off the vultures of the press for months, maybe even years.   
"I am getting too god damned old for this." She breathes, stepping out of the house to smoke a cigarette. She takes in a long, glorious drag, closing her eyes.  
"I thought you quit." Freddie Lounds smiles, and Kade's eyes flutter open. She sputters and coughs on smoke as Lounds approaches, smiling brightly with her camera raised.   
"Fuck." Prurnell mutters, putting her cigarette out, though she knows Lounds got a good shot or two. She wishes that Freddie Lounds was still pretending to be dead. 

xxx

The blood at the scene belonged to Abigail Hobbs, and this creates a lot of fuss in the FBI as well as in the press. Someone leaked the information to Freddie Lounds. They always do.   
There are two Jane Does in the hospital who fit Abigail's description. One of them died a couple of hours ago, and Kade has to go see if it's really the Hobbs girl. She's half worried that it isn't, half worried that it is.  
When she pulls up to the hospital, there are news teams already waiting outside, Lounds at the front line.   
Kade pushes past them, refusing to answer any of the questions. She goes in to see the dead girl, and feels mixed emotions when they pull back the sheet and it is not Abigail Hobbs.  
"It's not her." She says, nodding to herself. She's about to go to the second hospital with the other girl when her phone rings.  
"Our other Jane Doe was released from the hospital." She hears. Her face instantly burning hot with anger.  
"What do you mean, released? We told them to keep her there until we could confirm her identity." She is seething with rage and trying to keep it lidded.  
"Well I suppose 'released' was a poor choice of words, ma'am. Someone took her. They say it's the guy who brought her in. He fits the description of Will Graham.   
She hangs up her phone, walks to her car, and pounds her fists into the steering wheel. Among the press, Lounds is no where to be found.

xxx  
Will walks with Abigail through the airport. She wears bandages in lieu of a scarf now, her throat torn to shreds and with only one ear, but she is alive. He is grateful that Freddie called him to warn him that Prurnell would be going to their hospital next. He had snuck Abigail out with a surprising amount of ease. One of the security guards even opened the door for her as they left.

 

"Your scars don't define you." He says to her after they pass through airport security, and she looks up at him questioningly.

xxx


	7. Epilogue

They have both bleached their hair and changed their names. Blonde looks better on Abigail than it does on Will.  
They are passing through a bookstore, and a book catches Will's eye. On the cover is a crime scene photo of Hannibal Lecter with his crown of antlers.  
"WHO RIPPED THE RIPPER: the story of Hannibal "The Cannibal" Lecter, by Chesapeake Ripper Survivor Freddie Lounds" It says in red letters. He flips through it, and much to his satisfaction, there is nothing about Abigail anywhere. Lounds pulled through after all.  
He decides not to get the book. Some things are better left alone.

xxx

Abigail never does call him "dad", but he doesn't mind. Anyone who she ever valued as a father figure was a cannibal who slit her throat.

She's in school in Paris, studying criminal justice. He visits her often, but tries not to outstay his welcome. She doesn't wear scarves any more, and when people ask her what happened she smiles and says she was in hunting accident, and that a stag nearly gored her to death. People seem to find this answer odd but don't push her on it. They are a strange pair, but they are happy enough.

He spends most of his time walking the streets of Italy, going wherever he pleases. Apparently, Hannibal had left Abigail a Swiss bank account with enough money for both of them to live on for the rest of their lives. It's almost like he was rewarding Will for killing him.

He sits in his quiet little house, a dog curled beside him and a bottle of whiskey in his hand. The fireplace crackles, and Will smiles softly to himself. Outside, the night is quiet save for the autumn crickets that are starting to chirp. 

Then there is a sound.  
A raven pecks at his window, eyeing him for a few moments, and then flitting away to a nearby tree branch. He isn't sure why, but he gets up to follow it. It watches him step out the door, then flies a short distance away. Will follows it farther, staring up with interest. A few blocks later, he stops. There's blood on the sidewalk, lots of blood. He begins to follow the trail, and then he sees him. He swears it's him.  
"Hannibal!" He cries. The figure is walking away, into an alley. He runs after, heart racing. "Hannibal." He finds himself alone at a dead-end in the alley, staring dumbly at the brick wall. He turns to look back at where he came from, and the blood is gone. The raven is gone. He wipes a sweaty hand over his face, shivering.

Hannibal's hand falls onto his shoulder and Will jumps.  
"Yes Will?" Hannibal's eyes are gleaming red, his face smooth and black like a raven's feathers.  
"I forgive you." Will whispers. "I forgive you."

"Will?"

 

Abigail stares at him sadly. "Will?"  
He's not looking at her, he's looking through her. In his mind, he isn't in the mental hospital, she knows. He thinks he's with Hannibal Lecter, that they made it to Italy and that Hannibal somehow followed them there.  
Sometimes, he is lucid enough to take in his surroundings. Awake enough to know that they were apprehended at the airport, and dragged back to Baltimore. Will was literally kicking and screaming until the exact moment when he just seemed to slip away. He broke, couldn't take it any more.  
Usually they keep him in a padded cell, but Chilton lets her visit, hoping her face will wake him from his delusions. She had been admitted in the asylum for a while, too. After six months they released her, but she still goes to therapy five days a week. Will, it seems, is a lifer.  
"Will." She says again, and he blinks, finally looking at her. He looks around, frowning.  
"Oh." He whispers, a rare moment of clarity washing over his features.  
"You're still in Kansas, Dorothy." She says, fighting back tears when he nods, glancing down at his straight jacket.  
"You were in Paris." He says quietly. "You were happy. We were happy."  
"I know." She nods. She's heard this every time he's come back to reality. His delusions sound nice, maybe it's better that he spends more time in his mind than in this awful cell.

Suddenly Will smiles.  
"It's okay. I'm okay now." He says, trying to reassure her. She just stares at him, and Hannibal is standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder. "We can be a family. I forgive you."  
"Will.." Abigail knows he's slipping, not looking at her again.  
"I forgive you." He repeats, smiling a broken smile. Behind Abigail, Hannibal winks, his black antlers gleaming in the flickering fluorescent light.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think!


End file.
